


The Party Trick

by MundaneSalad



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Crack, Gen, Halloween, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 06:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12205608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundaneSalad/pseuds/MundaneSalad
Summary: It's a parody of the Cask of Amontillado, y'all.I apologize to Edgar Allan Poe.





	The Party Trick

It was past midnight on Halloween.  The settlers of Sanctuary Hills had tucked their children into bed and snuck off to the costume party at the Red Rocket.  The tiny settlement was livelier than it had been in months. Everyone scraped together a costume for one night of tomfoolery and merriment. A couple of folks convened around the record player while others hovered over by the makeshift bar Hancock was tending.  While he had traded his usual revolutionary getup for a skimpy Nuka Girl suit, he had nowhere near the most revealing costume of the evening. MacCready, dressed rather underwhelmingly as Grognak, leaned on the folding table to chat where the mayor was set up.

"I wish we could get the projector working again, _Night of the Fish Man's Revenge_  would be absolutely perfect tonight," griped MacCready.  Hancock cracked open a beer for himself, shaking his head.

"Nah, I never felt anything from scary movies.  I'm a fan of the printed word, myself," He tapped a gnarled finger to his forehead. "Your mind makes it feel real, Mac."

"Pfft, like what?" MacCready scoffed.

"I dunno- _The Masque of the Red Death_ , _The Raven_ -"

" _The Raven-_ those stories aren't scary!" MacCready Interrupted.  Hancock scrunched his face in skepticism.

"I guess they're more creepy than scary." He admitted.  MacCready wasn't convinced.  The mayor rolled his beady eyes in frustration. "Ugh! Let me show you, I'll go get the bricks."

The two greeted one inebriated Deacon as he passed by for a fifth, sixth, seventh time. Curie, dressed as her namesake, had taken to distracting a few partygoers by telling horror stories about the dangers of using lab equipment incorrectly. Danse had conked out in a corner armchair already after a grand total of one-and-a-half Gwinnett Lites. A cowboy hat was slouched across his head in lieu of a shady room to sleep in.  

X6-88 stood by the wall, cheap cape draped over his shoulders and unknowingly performing a stunning impression of Count Dracula. He was in possession of a single cup of tarberry punch, having taken one sip early in the evening before grimacing at the sharp taste of vodka spiking the otherwise sugary beverage. Not knowing what to do with the still-full glass, he held it for hours as the once cold brew was warmed into an uncomfortable tepid. X6 didn't like talking to people. Parties were meant for talking to people. Therefore, X6 didn't like parties. But there were a few things he disliked more than parties. One of those things had found his way into his personal space.

A short man in a colorful costume and indoor sunglasses meandered through the crowd. Deacon slid uncomfortably close to X6 and handed him a second cup of punch by absolutely no request.

“Look at lil sleepyhead over there,” Deacon nodded over to slumbering Danse. “For a guy nearly twice my size, he really can't hold his alcohol.”  

Something about Deacon’s overly relaxed mentality was further amplified by several shots of moonshine administered earlier in the evening.  What even was his accent?  It sounded too west coast to fit with the background he gave.  It didn't help that he was dressed as some sort of court jester. He had on a brightly colored blouse and a pointy hat covered in tinkly bells.  Jeez, even his costume was irritating.

“Evening Deacon,” X6 greeted, attempting the sly hint of a smile. “You’re just the man I was searching for.”  

Deacon snorted unbearably loud. The bells on his hat tinkled in agreement. “I guess you weren’t trying that hard.”  He took another gulp of punch.  X6 leaned in close.

“I’ve been informed that there is a wayward Synth here, at the party,”  He whispered.  Deacon coughed, nearly spitting out his drink.

“A Synth?”

“He is quite timid and is abstaining from tonight’s party.”

“A Synth?!”

“You know the cavern under the garage?”

“A Synth!”

“He is staying down there for the time being. I was going to tell Preston that he would be a good addition to the Minutemen-”

“Oh I wouldn’t burden Preston with any more work, he’s busy enough already with supply lines or-” he wiggled his fingers around as if to pull the answer out of the air “-whatever it is he actually does.”

“But he would surely be willing to take in a disenfranchised Synth...”

Deacon grabbed X6 by the shoulder, glaring him dead in the eye.

“X6, buddy, I got this.”

“But surely you must be needed elsewhere, Deacon.  Perhaps you were to take over the bar from Hancock?”

Deacon drained his cup and crumpled it in his hand.  The bells tinkled gently. It was business time.

“We’re going to the cavern.  Come on!”

The party was concentrated mostly under the Red Rocket’s canopy and in the garage.  The two carefully stumbled down the hill beyond the gas station, a few party goers here and there were scattered among the grounds. They sought the privacy of the cavern.  Before the war, it was used as a waste dump but since then has been cleaned up to have no real purpose but extra storage if necessary.  A few wine bottles had been comically stashed in a number of crevices as if to add a touch of sophistication to what was literally an empty cave.  Approaching the cave entrance, Deacon reclaimed one of X6’s two glasses of punch. The other man rested his one free hand on the gate.

“Now I’ve been informed that there used to be radioactive waste stored here and of course there will be residual radiation-” Warned X6.

“It’s times like these that I’m glad that Radaway exists, pal,” insisted Deacon, taking a sip of yet more punch.  “Thanks for the drink, anyway.”

“You’re the one who gave it to me, but it was my pleasure regardless,”  X6 said as he pulled the gate open, kicking up dust.  Deacon gulped his drink a little too fast, coughing cacophonously and spilling bright pink punch on his blouse.  

“Are you alright?”  X6 asked in feigned concern.  “Would you like to turn back?”

Deacon spent a few moments trying to clear his throats before could speak properly.

“I’m good.  Let’s go,”  He wheezed before leading the other man into the cavern.  The jingling of his bells echoed through the cave, distorting into a seemingly demonic giggle from the earth itself.  Deacon took the lukewarm punch from X6 and replaced it with his own empty cup.

“Now if you don’t mind,” he chuckled before raising the glass to his lips.

X6 gestured further down the cavern.

“We must be quiet.  We do not want to scare the Synth.”

They ambled down into the earth, their footsteps and the bells being the only indicators of living things.  Deacon swayed under the burden of inebriation.  He leaned himself up against the cavern wall to steady himself.

“It seems that the Synth has hidden further down-”  
“So when you gonna wall me in?” Deacon slurred, cheesy grin plastered across his face.  X6 nearly jumped.  He’d been found out.

“Excuse me?” X6 hissed, taken aback.  Deacon simply laughed.

“So where are the bricks and mortar?  You gonna chain me to the wall yet?”

X6’s cheeks grew hot.  The building materials in question were further down the cave.  He had tucked a trowel in his cape a the beginning of the night for dramatic emphasis.

“How did you know?” He nearly stammered.  Deacon leaned in and pulled down his glasses, bells tinkling.

“A better question, X6— _my good pal_ —is who _doesn’t_ know about the _Cask of Amontillado_?”  He grasped X6’s shoulder again.  “As you know, Edgar Allan Poe is practically required reading for all brooding individuals such as yourself and I.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“I wanted to see how far you’d go with it.  Also I wear this dumb fucking clown costume every year in hopes someone will try to bury me alive in a wine cellar,”  He replaced his glasses and sunk down the wall. “This isn’t a wine cellar but props to you for making it all work.”

X6 was speechless.  This was surely embarrassing.

“ _Shit_.” Was all he could manage.  

“To be honest, I’m surprised you weren’t suspicious at my ravenous thirst for that delicious punch and my overly friendly disposition.” Deacon rested a hand on one cheek.  “So what are you gonna do now, _Edgar_?”

There was a long moment of silence.

“I doubt Danse has read up on Poe,” X6 finally suggested. Deacon grinned ear to ear.

“It's worth a shot.” He outstretched a hand. X6 grabbed it firmly and helped his former adversary up. Deacon stumbled a bit upon finding his feet.

“The thing about making the trick convincing,” he slurred, “is getting really, really drunk and pretending to be a moron.” He allowed himself to be lead back to the entrance. “Of course, you could always forego the drinking, but what’s the fun in that? Not to mention, the booze was free.” Deacon tripped over his feet quite a bit. The alcoholic slurry in his stomach was beginning to disagree with the rest of his body and demanded an exit.

“It did really seem like you fooled there, Deacon,” X6 sheepishly agreed. “You make a very convincing lummox.”

"You weren't actually going to kill me, right?"

"No, I wanted you to leave me alone."

“Well anyway, I've been dropping hints for years that it would be an amazing party trick to be buried alive but-"

Upon reaching the gate to the cavern, they found the entrance to be gone.  In its place was a freshly laid brick wall.  The two men could simply meet eyes.

"Who exactly were you 'dropping hints' to, Deacon?" X6 asked rhetorically.

"Nobody weird, just Hancock."


End file.
